


Ballast

by Merit



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Manipulative Relationship, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milady wasn't going to let a prize like d'Artagnan get away from her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ballast

D'Artagnan woke up in the grey pre-dawn light. He rolled over, hand spreading over the bed but he only felt long gone warmth and not the lush body of his lover. He heard her laugh and he frowned.

“You shouldn’t laugh at a man,” he said. She laughed again, her beautiful voice rivalling the birds outside. Smiling he tossed a pillow at her which she swiftly caught.

“You shouldn’t throw a pillow at a lady,” she said mockingly. She walked over to their bed, clad only in her shift. As she got closer he could see goose bumps running up and down her arms. When she was within reach, he grabbed her by the waist and soon she was resting under him, eyes shining with amusement. Her body was deliciously cool against his sleep warm body. “Is this my punishment?” She murmured, wriggling her hips. His lids dropped and d'Artagnan briefly fantasised about staying in bed all morning. They could make love as Paris woke up.

He sighed. “We shouldn’t,” he said.

“We mustn’t,” she added, moving under him so delicately. If he didn’t know what a temptress she could be, he could almost assume it was innocent.

“We mustn’t, Milady,” he said, sliding off her. He rested a hand on his eyes. “Your punishment will have to wait a little longer.”

 

* * *

 

Clarick watched d'Artagnan dress with disappointment. He ignored looking at her though. She noted with amusement how he seemed to struggle to belt his belt. She let out another peal of laughter. His shoulders stiffened and as he left the room he promised more punishment at a later date. Clarick smiled.

Once he had left she was immediately on her feet, a richly embroidered dressing gown tossed on as she walked to her writing desk. She was in service of the Cardinal, most of her work was highly secretive in nature and Clarick had seen agents in the past nearly bring ruin to the Cardinal. They were quietly murdered, some by her hand, but Clarick learned her lessons well. Bring harm close to the Cardinal and he would throw his protection away like lightning and punish you with the justice of the king.

It had been a stroke of luck discovering d'Artagnan. She had taken him as a lover because he was handsome and she felt she deserved handsome. She was beautiful, wasn’t she? Even with Athos’ ghastly justice mark around her neck. She had intended on leaving, leaving him with the bloody dagger and an angry crowd clawing for mob justice. But there had been something about him that intrigued her. The fact that he was embittered with the Musketeers only made the prospect more rewarding.

The next day she had presented d'Artagnan to the Cardinal. D'Artagnan had demanded justice for his dead father. The Cardinal had met her eyes over d'Artagnan’s shoulder and Clarick could see he was pleased with her. Clarick had bowed, dark hair sweeping over her shoulder. It hid her self satisfied smirk from d'Artagnan. They might have been lovers on meeting each other but men grew so tiresome if you gave a hint of being more intelligent than them.

The Cardinal had promised d'Artagnan justice. But he also hinted that the Musketeers had far deeper problems and that ridding them of one man would only cut of one head. More would emerge, he warned, hand clasping his cross as if he really was dedicated to God and the Church. It had moved d'Artagnan, because he was a naive and simple country boy.

“Will you join us?” The Cardinal asked. “Will you join us in ridding France of its most cursed enemies?”

D'Artagnan had practically been near tears! Clarick had quickly to hide her smile, her laugh, because the Cardinal could get so over dramatic sometimes. Clarick blamed his seminary training and his love of dark cloaks.

“I will. I will swear I will rid France of all those who would harm her,” d'Artagnan declared. Clarick had slipped behind him, slipping her hand in his. She had smiled at him, so proudly, even misty eyed from holding back her laughter. D'Artagnan had smiled back at her, even looked protectively at her. Clarick could hear victorious bells pealing in her head. He might have sworn an oath to France but he was _hers_.

“As must as it pains me to admit it,” the Cardinal said, pale eyes trying to bore a new hole into her. Clarick stepped away from d'Artagnan and bowed her head submissively. “It might be best to keep this information to ourselves for the time being.”

“But it is an outrage!” d'Artagnan exclaimed. “Such treacherous villains are so close to the king and queen when their hearts are so dark.”

The Cardinal blinked, probably surprised by the sheer sincerely d'Artagnan was letting off. There were few left in the court that hadn’t grown cynical. “Yes,” the Cardinal said, inclining his head at d'Artagnan. “But this would only remove one damned Musketeer. Do you want to get rid of the traitorous lot?”

He had pledged yes, just like Clarick thought he would. It was exciting to have someone who looked at like she was a lovely, grace filled creature. It was aggravating when he spat on the ground when the Musketeers rode past. One of them, with a carefully manicured beard gave them a long side glance, but rode on, ignoring the furious expression that d'Artagnan had on his past.

“d'Artagnan,” Clarick hissed, fingers digging into his arm. “We cannot draw attention to ourselves.”

He glared at her but merely nodded and stalked off. Clarick sighed and adjusted her hood. Athos had been with them, Clarick thought, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. Those must be his friends. They were also some of the finest Musketeers in their regiment. He knew how to attract the best, Clarick thought wryly.

 

* * *

 

“You want me to work with them?” d'Artagnan asked, curling his lip in disgust.

“They can be useful sometimes,” the Cardinal said, though Clarick could see that it irked him that he couldn’t just order d'Artagnan to do something and there wouldn’t be a deluge of complaints.

“Still,” d'Artagnan said.

“Corrupt as they might be, they don’t want the king dead,” the Cardinal said sharply. “He’s their protector, that’s why,” he added reassuringly. The Cardinal was ill suited to be a jolly old friar, Clarick thought, amusing as it was to watch him _try_.

“I have to be arrested for duelling,” d'Artagnan said, running over the plan again.

“With Musketeers even,” the Cardinal said, smiling brightly. “Vadim despises the Musketeers. That will definitely endear you to him.”

“The Musketeers think I will be duelling,” d'Artagnan said, eyes flashing.

“It will be more believable,” the Cardinal said, his smile turning sharp. “And don’t you want to show the Musketeers how strong you are?”

D'Artagnan fell for it hook, line and sinker. Clarick resisted the urge to sigh. He needed a lot of training, she thought. He was decent with a sword but he showed every emotion on his face. Clarick could see the potential for so much _more_ in him.

 

* * *

 

“You shouldn’t trust him so much, Milady,” the Cardinal said, not looking at her. Clarick raised one disdainful eyebrow and sniffed. “Oh you know _who_ ,” he added, looking up at her through his bushy brows.

“He trusts me absolutely,” Clarick said, she extended a hand and examined her fingernails with a pout. They never did tell you how firing muskets ruined your nails and made your skirts reek of smoke.

“He trusts an idea of you,” the Cardinal said, putting down his quill and rubbing his eyes tiredly. “But if he knew how quickly you can slide a knife through someone’s ribs? How you have lied, thieved and murdered? And if someone was to correct him..?”

Clarick turned away from the Cardinal and walked over to one of the long windows. “I would dispose of him,” she said tonelessly. “I’ve promised my service to you, haven’t I?” She turned and curtseyed to the Cardinal. When she looked up he was watching her with too canny eyes.

“I sometimes wonder if you would,” he said, somewhat distractedly. “Women can get foolishly attached to men.” He looked down again, eyes sweeping over the documents that made France work. The king only saw the documents that needed be signed with great flourishes and many seals.

“My loyalty is absolute,” Clarick said but the Cardinal ignored her. Clarick didn’t outwardly show any signs of nervousness, oh no, the Cardinal would leap upon them and would slit her throat at the closest opportunity but he had practically admitted he thought her compromised. Clarick had seen what happened to others the Cardinal thought compromised. She had sometimes killed them. She curtseyed again, knowing the Cardinal probably wasn’t watching but if he was it _might_ mean something to him.

 

* * *

 

“They tried to save the child,” d'Artagnan said, voice hushed.

“They probably wanted to extract a price from the mother,” Clarick said, raising one shoulder dismissively. She watched d'Artagnan carefully. He didn’t seem convinced. Clarick felt her stomach churn and roil.

“They couldn’t have,” d'Artagnan said, shaking his head. “It would have meant death if they had been caught.”

“For disobeying the Cardinal’s order, for being disorder to France,” Clarick whispered, fingers digging into d'Artagnan’s shoulder.

“She was so unhappy,” d'Artagnan said, sounding distressed. He had told her how the mother had screamed and wept as the baby slipped under the waters. The waters were cold this time of year and the current would have washed the baby quickly downstream.

“She’ll be fine once she has another child,” Clarick said dismissively. d'Artagnan met her gaze.

“Is that what you think?” d'Artagnan asked. He didn’t usually look this solemn when he was looking at her. Usually his eyes were filled with lust. Or intrigue.

Clarick felt uncertain. “Once child to replace another,” she said, “Isn’t that how it works?”

d'Artagnan almost looked _sorry_ for her.

“No,” he said carefully. Clarick shifted and looked away. Her breathing was loud in her ears.

“We did the right thing,” she said, looking down at her hands. “We did it for the greater good of France,” she said. How could he be so weak, she wondered. It was one child! The rest of France would have suffered under the old queen’s regency. Clarick didn’t particularly care either way, but she thought d'Artagnan would have chosen the option where there was less suffering. He was the noble sort, Clarick thought, half pitying, half envying him.

 

* * *

 

“Tell me again how you got this mark,” d'Artagnan asked, voice flat. He traced the mark on her neck with a delicate finger. Clarick felt her breath catch in her throat when it hovered over the pulse point. She shifted away, sitting up. “I’m sorry,” d'Artagnan said, but it didn’t sound like his usual apology.

“The man I loved did this to me,” Clarick said softly. “He believed several untruths about me. I tried to tell him they were lies but he was so honour _obsessed_ that he could see beyond his duty,” she finished, somewhat more bitterly than she had intended.

“You loved him,” d'Artagnan said, getting out of bed and starting to put his clothes back on.

“I did,” Clarick said, covering the mark. She might be stark naked under the covers and her breasts might be displayed but she didn’t like how d'Artagnan was staring at her, staring at it, so accusingly.

“He told me that too,” d'Artagnan said, so casually, so casually that Clarick didn’t know she was hurt until she gasping, sliding across the bed away from d'Artagnan. It wasn’t a physical hurt, but it didn’t have to be. Athos had always had the power to do this to her, Clarick thought wildly. Even when he wasn’t even in the same room. “He loved you too,” d'Artagnan said softly.

“Did he?” Clarick said, hand drifting down from her neck to rest on her lap. What was the point of hiding it now? She smiled. “Did he tell you everything? This brave Musketeer who murdered your father?”

“Yes,” d'Artagnan said, adjusting his sword, then his musket and when he had he got a musket. Why hadn’t she noticed that? “A group of Musketeers were killed and impersonated him.”

“And you believed him,” Clarick said dully.

“He saved my life,” d'Artagnan said and then looked down at his feet. “I have seen the things you have done for the Cardinal, Milady,” he said, “I have witnessed enough about the Cardinal to know he ordered you to do those wretched things.”

“My tainted honour,” Clarick said, smiling bitterly. And didn’t it always come down to this? He was going to _pity_ her. But when she looked up d'Artagnan was staring at with a solemn expression.

“He wants you to leave the city, the country,” d'Artagnan said. “The others said you deserved to be hanged. But he spoke up for you.”

“I see,” she said. She couldn’t go to Spain, there were too many enemies there. She had no intention of going to the warring German states. Italians were far too at ease with poison for Clarick’s comfort. It would have to be England, cultureless wasteland that it was. She wrinkled her nose and looked away from d'Artagnan. It might not be far away enough from the Cardinal, she thought.

“That’s all?” d'Artagnan said.

Clarick stared at him. “What did you want?”

“Denials, begging for forgiveness, I don’t know,” he said, waving his hands in the air. “I thought I loved you. For a moment. Before I saw you for who you truly are.”

She smiled slowly. “I trained you well,” she said. “You’ll do well as a Musketeer.”

He started. “I’m not – ” his gaze flickered to his shoulder.

“You might not be wearing it, but you are, aren’t you?” Her mouth twisted bitterly. “Have fun with them, d'Artagnan.”

He stared at her for several seconds before shaking his head and cursing. He looked like wanted to say something else but instead he left their room, her room.

Clarick didn’t allow herself to cry. She never had. She did scream into a pillow though.

Damned men, she thought. Damn all men!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for trope_bingo, for the space 'mind control'.
> 
> Who knows what Milady's real name is, but Clarick fits well enough. The secret lies her and probably the Cardinal ^^


End file.
